Who shapes the garden now?

Who shapes the garden now?

Admit so much.
We are voyeurs of the real.
Migrants, maybe, who only stay
To feed and breed and fly.

But we need more of this
I mean these lost places
Where people rest and speak of
Benign trees, the smell of winter fires,
Ice biting under autumn leaf,
Bells ceasing and sounding
Inside the secret mind.